


Together

by lilmisslola



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Kiss, Gunshot Wounds, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-26
Updated: 2015-02-26
Packaged: 2018-03-15 09:46:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3442565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilmisslola/pseuds/lilmisslola
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"We’re going to get through this, Nate. We don’t die here, we get out and we go home. All of us, together."</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Together

"Quick, get in!"

Monty dragged Miller through the open door as Jasper took one last shot down the corridor, and followed them in, slamming the door behind him.Miller slumped against the wall, groaning as he clutched his left shoulder, the pain immeasurable.

"Son of a bitch." He lifted his hand and was immediately hit with a wave of nausea as he caught sight of the blood coating his fingers. He pressed his hand back down, dimly aware of the other two moving around, securing their temporary sanctuary.  
They’d been attempting to get to the upper levels, to where Bellamy was waiting with their Grounder allies, only to walk straight into an ambush. Harper and the others were separated from them in the commotion, and when Miller had caught a bullet in the shoulder, Jasper had forced them through the first open door he could find.

"What the hell just happened? How did they know we were coming?" Jasper was pacing back and forth in front of the door to what Miller now saw was some sort of walk-in supply closet, boxes of unknown cargo lining the walls.

"I don’t know. Do you think Bellamy’s ok?" Monty asked worriedly.

"I don’t know, I don’t know." Watching Jasper’s frantic movements as he muttered to himself, along with his finger constantly readjusting around the trigger of his automatic really wasn’t helping Miller’s nausea and he slammed his eyes shut as the room shifted slightly. Moments later, he felt a hand at his right elbow and opened his eyes to see Monty’s concerned face swimming in front of him.

"Hey, you ok? Maybe you should sit down." Miller let himself be guided the few steps forward and down on to an upturned crate. The see-sawing in his stomach lessened as he focussed on Monty crouching in front of him, the heat of his hand on Miller’s knee, steadying himself. Miller tried a grateful smile, but from the way Monty’s brow furrowed, he thought it must have looked more like a grimace.

"I can’t hear anything out there anymore. I think I hit one as we came in. Maybe they retreated." When neither Monty nor Miller responded, Jasper looked across at them with a double-take as he seemed to suddenly remember Miller’s condition. He opened his mouth to speak, taking a half-step forward, then back towards the door, pacing a few more times before shaking his head. "I’m going back out, try to find Harper and Fox and everyone. You guys stay here, I’ll come back for you."

And with that Jasper was gone, leaving Monty to call after him in disbelief. He turned back to Miller, concern and exasperation etched on his face. It didn’t sit right on him, Miller thought. Monty always seemed serious to a passing glance, but there was usually a glimmer in his eyes, of mischief, of intelligence beyond Miller’s comprehension, visible to anybody who cared enough to look closely. Anybody like Miller.

He wasn’t sure when it had happened, but somewhere in between chocolate cake and bone marrow extractions, Miller’s feelings had changed and, it seemed ( _God, he hoped he hadn’t made it all up in his head_ ), Monty’s had too. There had been shy glances, ridiculous innuendos and intimate conversations, but nothing more. Running for their lives wasn’t the time for such a loaded conversation so Miller pushed it down, keeping it locked away and himself protected, just in case…

Monty was giving him a questioning look and Miller realised he’d been staring. He dropped his eyes and readjusted his grip on his shoulder. He squeezed his eyes shut at the stabbing pain, drawing Monty’s attention back to the wound.

"Here, let me take a look," he said, gently manoeuvring Miller’s hand and leaning closer, before moving back almost immediately. "I, uh… I can’t really see through the shirt. Could you, uh…" He trailed off, a faint blush colouring his cheeks, leaving Miller confused for a split-second before he suddenly understood, an answering flush creeping up his neck. He didn’t reply, didn’t trust his voice, just unfastened one, two, three buttons, pushing the fabric aside so that his shoulder was exposed. He avoided looking at Monty as he did so, but saw him swallow thickly from the corner of his eye and felt unreasonably pleased, even as his shoulder throbbed at the extra strain.

Monty blinked a couple of times and cleared his throat, moving back into Miller’s space to gingerly examine the area. Miller found himself watching again, taking advantage of their close proximity to note the flutter of dark eyelashes, the teeth worrying Monty’s bottom lip in concentration and how, under the dirt, sweat and blood, he smelled like the earth after rain. _Petrichor_ , Miller’s brain supplied. After what felt like both an eternity and no time at all, Monty’s expression cleared and he leaned back on his heels. Miller missed the warmth instantly.

"It doesn’t look like the bullet actually hit, more of a graze," Monty smiled, reassuring and a little relieved. "You’re lucky."  
"Yeah, I feel it," Miller rolled his eyes, but felt his own lips tugging up. He looked down at the exposed wound for the first time, nausea seeping back in at the edges. "It’s bleeding a lot."

Monty gave him a teasing grin and stood, taking out the pen knife Maya’s dad had given him before they left. “Don’t worry, you’ll live.”

As the words left his mouth, a loud bang came from under their feet, making them both startle. Miller waited for the screams he had come to expect, but none came.

"For now," he countered, feeling the full weight of the situation settle back on to his shoulders.

Monty’s expression darkened but he didn’t reply. Instead, Miller watched, amused, as he made a small incision into the hem of his worn blue shirt, ripping the rest of the way to tear off a strip about a foot long. He moved to Miller’s side, wrapping the makeshift bandage around the affected area. When he spoke again, his voice was low and deliberate.

"We’re going to get through this, Nate. We don’t die here, we get out and we go home. All of us, together."

Miller stared in disbelief at the man in front of him. A man who’d suffered immensely at the hands of the Mountain Men and still found the humanity to look away from their deaths. Who’d been through so much, so young, and still had the hope and faith to keep going. Who’d been forced into a violent war and managed to remain untainted, tending to Miller with delicate, careful touches.

With all of these thoughts running through his head, Miller was hit by a wave of pride and love so strong, he could feel it break through his self-imposed restraint. He reached his right hand across, tilting Monty’s chin up until their eyes met. An interesting paradox took hold of Miller; his breath shook as he exhaled, but he had never felt such a sense of calm as he did now.

He leaned in, eyes fluttering shut, and pressed his lips to Monty’s softly, just long enough to feel the barely-there pressure of Monty’s reciprocation. Miller’s heart pounded a tattoo against his rib cage, the undulating in his stomach returning, but so much better than before. Pulling back, they separated only so far that their breath still mingled between them.

"What was that for?" Miller wasn’t sure if Monty knew he was whispering but he understood. Outside was chaos and fear. Here, a safe sort of hush had fallen across the room and Miller wasn’t keen to break it. He gave a small shake of his head, searching for words.

"Just… being you," he answered lamely, hoping the warmth and total adoration he was feeling showed through in his voice and expression. He thought it must have, as Monty’s blush was back and he was giving Miller a beautifully shy smile, that had him fighting to resist the urge to close the space between them again. Instead, he distracted himself with redressing, acutely aware of dark eyes watching his every move.

"Nate-"

Whatever Monty had been about to say was lost as the door to the supply closet burst open. They both jumped to their feet, Miller’s arm outstretched instinctively to shield the other man. But the tension dissipated as Jasper strode into the room, gun still raised to his shoulder. He lowered it as he came toward them, and Miller could see Harper, Fox and several others, though less than they’d started with, standing in the hall outside.

"You two ok? Miller, how’s your arm?"

"Better, now Monty’s strapped it up," He shot the man in question a smile as Jasper raised an eyebrow at Monty’s torn shirt, but didn’t comment.

"Good. The others found another way to get upstairs, hopefully guard-free this time. Fox, you take point. Let’s go." Jasper was already out of the door and following the girls.

Miller looked across to find Monty already watching him, anticipant. As their eyes met, Monty gave an almost imperceptible upwards tilt of his head, a question.

_Together?_

And Miller knew in that moment that he’d follow this man to the ends of the earth, win or lose. He returned a nod.

_Together._


End file.
